Silver Something
by wickedwriter916
Summary: The Golden Trio are off adventuring to destroy the Horocrux, and Oliver is trying to live a Muggle life in London, while Rachel is being stowed away herself. Things are changing, but nothing is set in stone. Sequel to Crazy Little Thing Called Quidditch
1. Concrete

Sequel to A Crazy Little Thing Called Quidditch. Rated M for many reasons including, Adult Language, Adult Situations, Adult Content.

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Nothing is set in stone. She didn't like thinking, or remembering that she had declined adventure and peril with Ron, Harry and Hermione this summer to be babysat by Lauren Chang. She didn't like thinking that she was in the London suburbs when her siblings were hauled up with her great-uncle something's in Northern Cali. She didn't think that her nightly behavior was wrong. She didn't mention to anyone that she was pregnant. Not until Lauren had cornered her with that dreaded pink box-

_"When did you stop getting your period?" the older woman questioned sternly._

_Rachel didn't look up from the TV, "I don't know, I'm a couple days late, no biggie. New house. Different women. Throws me off."_

_Lauren moved to stand in front of the TV and crossed her arms, feeling somewhat insulted and amused at the same time by her tenant's response. "I don't remember you getting one since you arrived here as a matter of fact."_

_"Really? That so, eh?" Rachel said trying to look around her._

_"Wow, Rachel, I wasn't born yesterday," she said turning and shutting the TV off._

_Rachel began to protest, sitting up, but the wicked sunburn that she subjected herself to in daily torture prevented her from the rapid movement._

_Lauren rolled her eyes in disgust and annoyance at the teen and turned, reaching into the hallway, grabbing a plastic grocery bag and thrusting it at her._

_She dug around in the bag and retrieved a small pink box. "Are you kidding me?" she glared, "a pregnancy test? I'm not pregnant!" she squeaked._

_"Just take the damn test Rachel, I made you a doctor's appointment for Saturday."_

_Rachel frowned, "don't those take, like, months to get?"_

_Lauren shrugged, "I pulled some strings."_

_The young mother gulped and pushed herself up and off of the bed with shaking arms and set a path for the bathroom. White knuckles enclosed the box as she gently forced the door, creaking it enough for her to slip in and slam it tightly behind her. She flipped the light on and set the box reluctantly on the counter, peering up at her glowing red form, scorched face, already beginning to appear leathery at seventeen. Ripping open the cursed packaging and tossing the test on top she hastily unfolded the instructions. "Remove cover, pee on stick, wait ninety seconds, receive results. If blue minus, no le preggo," she paused. "If positive," she exhaled and tossed the paper in the trash. Preparing herself, she breathed slowly as she squatted and peed, trying to hit the stick. Finishing, she set the test back on the box and cleaned up, washing her hands and leaning back on her right hip, crossing her arms underneath her chest. She allowed herself to slip from the present to a familiar instance._

_Then she paced the small bathroom in New England, biting the skin on her thumb. The two equal tests sat before her and she glanced over at them both nervously until she checked her watch and snatched them up, giving each a thorough inspection. After her eyes confirmed that both tests were in fact negative?, she breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped them in toilet paper and discarded the bundle with the box._

_Now Rachel jumped as Lauren quietly knocked on the door. "Rachel?" she called out before twisting the knob until it clicked and the door squeaked open, causing the teen to repress the urge to vomit as the creak transformed in her ears to the shrill of an infant._

_Lauren entered and saw the look on her guest's face, glanced at the test while picking it up. She opened her mouth to say something comforting but paused unable to think of anything to ease the girl before her into motherhood._

_"Did you want to see it?" Lauren questioned skeptically, stretching her hand out to Rachel._

_She shrunk back and looked at the test with disgust. "I already knew," she frowned and spun on her heel, walking away._

Hogwarts would be very different. Unfriendly even. If most students remembered her at all, they remembered her brazen, carefree attitude, and her necessity to be in charge. Her "American Ways" would certainly have left a bitter taste in their mouths. If they cared to remember her. If they cared to notice. They would when she ballooned.

Her experience, with Oliver tainted her Californian core. Life was, colder, now. Humbler, if only slightly. Nothing was set in concrete. This year she had no Harry to make her fit in, no Hermione to hide behind. No Oliver to run to when she wanted to play house, to fuck when she was scared. Things were changing rapidly beneath the surface. It rippled, reverberated in her life like the aftermath of an explosion. An explosion that would steal her hard earned body, destroy her mini washboard abs, one that would kick her intestines like she was a giant soccer ball, do a jig on her bladder and one that would ruin her life utterly and completely in nine months. Possibly sooner.

Sitting stashed away in hiding did nothing more that lower Rachel's tolerance to whining and complaining. And Cho Chang frequently found herself being verbally assaulted by the Californian, hence to ease the tension that had built to a breaking point in the Chang's sprawling residence, Lauren, for everyone's sake, sent Cho to stay with friends and relatives, bouncing her around, often creating Cho's supreme happiness and her woe. However, sending Cho halfway across the world could not quell Rachel's own desire for freedom and her restlessness drove her from the home most nights. She would swoop out of her window on her broom and take off flying high and low, practicing new Quidditch moves, testing her own new limits, which often had her flights grounded and she was forced to seek entertainment elsewhere. Elsewhere, were the many dimly lit, techno pulsing clubs closer to the heart of Muggle London where Rachel found herself luring gorgeous men to her dark corners where she did what she pleased; danced, teased, always fucked. The other two were her ways of getting back at them. Getting back at Oliver. Upon returning home, her temporary place of residence, she would peel off the smoke drenched clothing, banishing them to the bottom of her hamper, and rinsing out her greasy and overdone hair before crawling into her bed, and letting the dampness of her hair caress her cheeks and mingle with the unwanted tears that dance down them as well.


	2. A Little Help From My Friends

The flat in Muggle London was more than Oliver could ask for from Puddlemere. When he stumbled into the locker room unshaven, drunk and rambling with a look in his eyes that no others had seen, they knew something was wrong. After sobering up he sat down with his captain and manager and he gave them an abridged version of what had happened. They understood the school thing, but after Dumbledore's death and a little illusion to why he had really been in and out of Hogwarts, he told them of his dilemma, leaving out most importantly, his tryst with a one Rachel Rivers. Being his teammates and friends, they knew he needed help, and as much as he refused they had gotten him a nice flat in the middle of bustling Muggle London with a nice old landlady where no one knew anything about the Wizarding World.

He hulled up most of his belongings at his captain's and gave himself a crash course in Muggle life, retaining some knowledge from his time in both Santa Barbara and New England. The Muggle life was unsurprisingly mundane to Oliver. He would rise two hours before he was expected at Metcall and would run because he wanted to be in the best shape for when Puddlemere came to check up on him. In the early hours before dawn he would pass Mr. Murphy who was retrieving his morning paper in his bath robe, Trisha Parker who would walk her Great Dane in heels, or rather Toby would drag her along as she replied to work emails on her mobile, and occasionally he would pass a leggy blonde, on the side walk, running opposite of him. She would usually smile coyly, and turn up the Indie Pop Rock on her mp3 device, he would nod curtly and continue on. When he returned to his flat he would shower and dress, sometimes in black slacks and a button down shirt, sometimes in khakis and polo shirts.

There were several others like him that worked there, mild mannered, well dressed, queasy after the gory emergency calls. They felt like they were helping people, truly there were helping themselves. They were skittish, too weak to become police officers, too proud to find a more suitable job. Most had a family member somewhere on the force and they didn't want to disappoint, no, so they answered emergency calls all day and cried themselves to sleep at night. Oliver wasn't one of them, but he was sure that he was categorized with them, most likely by the officers that worked there. They were damaged, injured on the job, in need of retirement but unwilling to take it. He liked the older ones; they had spunk, like Mackey, a sixty-four year old former homicide detective who was Oliver's favorite. Mackey sat on the opposite side of the room as Oliver, but he would usually shout out instructions to women screaming that they had been attacked, or to someone that had been shot, and Oliver heard some interesting things come out of this man's mouth. The most entertaining had been when Mackey had told an elderly woman who had called about her missing cat to look under her seat cushion.

After a few weeks, at the end of Oliver's shift he approached the man, "Mackey, right?" he said smiling at the older man.

The former Detective gave Oliver a stern once over, "who wants to know?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Oliver Wood, I was wondering if you wanted to head over to the pub and get a few drinks, on me," Oliver offered.

Mackey glared, "I don't swing that way boy," he said beginning to walk away. "Aren't you a little young to be going after someone my age anyway?" he scoffed and continued walking.

Oliver gaped after him before quickening his pace to catch up, "I'm not a bugger, I'm actually," he paused, "recently unengaged, if that's even a term," he laughed slightly.

Mackey stopped and gave Oliver a strange look before continuing out of the call center. "Well, Oliver Wood, what happened?

"With Rac-my ex-fiancée?" he asked surprised and moved to keep up with the older man. "I fucked up, that's what."

"Ah, happens to the best of us," Mackey said walking down the block to the nearest pub. He opened the door and headed to the bar with Oliver obediently in tow. "It happened to me; I cheated on my first wife with a woman who eventually became my second wife, only to let it happen again. My second wife caught my ex-wife and me in bed."

Oliver grimaced at the fresh memory. "Yeah, situation sounds familiar," he trailed off as two beers in mugs appeared before them. He stared at the golden liquid and raised it before Mackey spoke out quickly.

"To loneliness! Because she is far better company than any woman I've ever been with," he said and followed by clinking his mug to Oliver's and taking a rather large swig, leaning back far enough that Oliver thought he would fall off his barstool.

"To loneliness," Oliver said less carefree than Mackey and took himself a gulp, nearly sputtering the liquid back out of his nose. He pinched it on the way down and Mackey laughed at his failure.

The bar door opened and the bell above tolled once again as a crowd of older gentlemen, much like Mackey, came loudly into the bar, "Oi! Mackey!" one called out and soon a chorus of his name was sung throughout the men as the swarmed the bar around the men and another round of drinks was ordered. No one asked who Oliver was, but as soon as Mackey had explained to them that he was a friend from Metcall who had just lost his woman, the men all resounded in boo's and requests for more drinks. Whiskey made its way around the circle and before Oliver knew what had happened he was stumbling out of the bar, Mackey and he joined at the arms as the group of men stumbled down the street to the next pub.

"So, how'd you loose your lass?" one asked.

Oliver grimaced then laughed, "She caught me in bed with one of my old school mates. Little blonde thing that was always hot on me."

They laughed, "Did she know her?"

"No, Rach was from the States."

"Ha! You were engaged to a Yank?!" Mackey laughed with glee.

"She was amazing!" Oliver declared. "Had a good head on her shoulders, knew well enough that I wasn't good enough for her!"

"Which one of us is good for any of our women?!"

They all laughed as the clambered through the door of another pub, where the bartender greeted them all with pints. As the drinks flowed on and on, Oliver became minutely aware of a blonde woman in the back of the pub who raised her drink to him and giggled to her friends when he looked her way and flashed his best smile. After a few more shots of whiskey with the guys he nearly fell off of his barstool and made his way over to her.

"Hello," she greeted with a wide smile.

"Hullo," he slurred. "You are the most beautiful woman I've laid eyes on all night," he smiled.

"Well that works to our advantage that we're the only women here," she grinned sideways at her friends.

"I'm Oliver," he stuck out his hand to her.

"Sarah," she replied.

"Hey, would you like to get out of here?" he asked, earning a chorus of "Ooos!" from the gents.

If possible, her smile widened and she hastily sat down her drink, "sure."

Oliver's alarm screamed next to his head and he jumped to a start with a pounding headache as he lurched out of bed. He was fairly certain that he was still intoxicated.

"You going to turn that off?" a soft voice floated from the bed.

He slowly raised his head to look across his bed and he saw the bare back and loose tendrils of the leggy blonde laying in his bed, tangled in his sheets. "Oh shit," was drowned out by the noise of his alarm and he unplugged it standing quickly. "I've got to, um, go running," he said staring at her back.

She didn't respond and he grabbed the jogging pants and zip up from the floor, stumbling out of his apartment with his shoes. He stopped short in his hallway and looked around cautiously. "Bullocks," he cursed and laced up, drowsily taking the stairs, his limbs still stiff with alcohol.


	3. Dance Floor Anthem

I'm sending out a huge THANK YOU to my lovely beta and hall mate, Coonies, and to my lovely reviewers pumpkingirl and Straight Edge Queen. I really appreciate that you still love the story (as badly written as the first one was) and that you're still reading this. Thanks :-)

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_Ever since that stupid fucking test turned stupid fucking positive I've been watched by a hawk Lauren fucking Chang. This is ridiculous, I can't go out, I can't practice flying, I can't even use the treadmill. Being under lock and key sucks._

The response letter, written in a bold fashion at the bottom of the parchment left her somewhat disturbed.

_Well what did ya expect? You got el knocked up, you know the consequences, not really, but you have to deal with them. It's that Brittish ("Scottish," she mumbled sadly) guy you brought here, right? Anywho, I've got to finish packing, Jed and I are moving into one of house-condos a little off campus. I'm so excited, can you believe it!? And I think he's gonna propose soon too!_

_ -P_

Another scratchy draw made up the post script.

_Wow. River's pregnant. I wonder who the father is? If your timing is right (and it is) that would put conception around May? Ha ha. I remember May, it was a good time. The bathroom of your house was lovely. And in case you were wondering what I know you're wondering - yes I was a little rough, and yes the condom did break. Congratulations, I wish you lots of morning (mourning ha) sickness and stretch marks. I hope he follows is his Dad's footsteps._

_ Jed_

She couldn't begin to comprehend what was in front of her. She thought snail mail would have been safer. Jed had more to say than her so-called best friend. Things were not looking up, she needed to get out. No doubt, if Jed knew, the other Death Eaters would as well; including her mother, the estranged Bellatrix Lestrange and Uncle Lucius, hopefully passing the intelligence on to her rebellious cousin Draco who would have (hopefully) any better fucking ideas that she had. Things were not looking well. Not only had her slutty club behavior made her feel utterly trashy and worthless, she could be carrying the Spawn of Satan. Fabulous and she was sure that the thing would be the Anti-Christ, she hadn't thought it could be interpreted as literally.

By some will of the unforgiving gods as well, forget nasty morning sickness, forget that lazy disgusting feeling she had been marinating in since the doctor's office, forget the fact that for all she knew an evil Oompa Lumpa would be popping out of her in less than seven months, Rachel was hot and ready to go. She hadn't had sex since, well, two weeks ago, but now she didn't want it anything more than a hot piece of meat between her thighs. And against Lauren's wishes and her own better judgment, Rachel had ventured out into the warm darkness of the London evening, making a specific b-line to her favorite techno spot, that typically had the sexier men but stopped short when she felt her tummy grumble and had the certain craving for a ham and cheddar sandwich with - chocolate ice cream? At first the thought almost inflicted her gag reflex until her mouth salivated and she turned, thinking of the only ice cream shop that she had known in London that might not look at her cross for wanting such a combination.

As she quickly made her way inside the Leaky Cauldron she kept her head low, letting her hair fall over her features, lest anyone recognize her and point her out to someone like her mother. Once out the back door she found herself at a brick wall and looked at it quizzically before tapping a brick. They seemed hollow. She pushed along the line until she found another until no more were in her arm span. She felt up the wall and eventually hit enough of the bricks that they sunk into the wall and let her in, only to have her stomach roar again uncomfortably, she really wanted that ice cream.

As she made her way down the darkened streets, she passed a boarded up building and moaned in discontent when she read Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, faded in the darkness. With a slightly heavier step she threw her weight on the door next to the abandoned building and entered, being assaulted by an all new alluring odor. Her eyes widened as she made her way around the shelves. She stopped at little round glass jar with green putty like lotion inside; she twisted the lid hastily and put some on her knuckle, smelling sweet spearmint and honey. She turned to the shopkeeper immediately and inquired, "Is this edible?"

Rachel didn't even wait for the shopkeeper to respond before she stuck two fingers in the lotion and brought it to her lips, licking it slowly, humming to herself.

The little woman smiled and walked over, to Rachel, "that's enchanted to smell and taste exactly what your craving."

Rachel couldn't help but grab a few more of the jars off of the shelf as she sucked on the bunch she had in her mouth, "S'really good."

The shopkeeper smiling knowingly at her, "how far along are you dear?"

Rachel stopped mid-suck and froze, turning slowly, "what did you say?"

"I asked how far along you were, that my special, Madam Primpernelle's Pregnancy Problem Cure-All," she grinned. "Still working on a better name though."

"Will it like, get rid of the kid?" Rachel asked intrigued.

The woman laughed, not understanding the seriousness of Rachel's question, "Of course not deary! But it will get rid of morning sickness, stretch marks, all of those strange cravings, headaches, backaches, moodiness-"

"I'll take the whole lot," Rachel said hastily grabbing a few more jars. "How much for it all?"

Walking back to the Leaky Cauldron with her wares distributed in two heavy paper bags, she found herself huffing for a completely different reason than she had originally set out to do. She frowned at that thought, as most of the shop lights turned out and those remaining witches and wizards scrambled back to the Leaky Cauldron to head home, or disapperated from their spots on the street. As the cobblestone was cast into darkness on the alley she quickened her pace, unsure if she heard a rustle of robes hurrying in the shadow behind her. The only lights ahead of her were coming from a small lamppost that hung over that back door of the Leaky Cauldron and then other from one barren store front who's light had not extinguished as the rest of them had. Her breathing became more labored as thought she heard her footsteps being echoed. The Lamp under the Leaky Cauldron was far, but as that store front came into view, she dashed into its light and froze, listening to silence.

Sparing a glance up at the open windows, she was surprised when she saw a familiar redhead inside. She walked over and pushed on the door hard.

"We're closed," the tall redhead said from behind the counter where he was stocking shelves of Puking Pastels.

"George?" she asked with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

The twin turned and recognition dawned on his face as his other half walked in from the back room with a box in his arms. "Rachel? What are you doing here?" both asked in two different tones.

Rachel's smile widened from the corner of her mouth to tug at both sides in a tight line. "Hi Fred," she said quietly.

"George, could you give us a minute?" Fred asked not looking over at his twin.

"Sure, Fred," George said heatedly and walked past his twin to the back room.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were in hiding or something," he questioned.

Her smile widened, "I am, hiding, or something."

He grinned back at her. "No, I mean what are you doing here in our shop?"

"I missed you, I want to see you so I came and found you," she lied.

"Are you ready to talk about what happened between you and Wood then?" he asked slowly.

Her smile broke and she toed some dust with her shoe, "No, well," she paused. "I caught him in bed with another woman," she stated plainly.

Fred's brows furrowed, "who?"

"I'd rather not say," she said, the situation was fucked up enough as it was. "I stormed out after that," she trailed off.

He nodded and they stood in silence for a few moments. "So you missed me? Knew I made a lasting impression, : he winked at her.

The heat throbbed between her legs a little faster as she grinned, silkily making her way over to him.

He stepped around the counter and met her halfway, capturing her lips in a blazing kiss that sent heat radiating through her core. She groped desperately for his chest and shoulders, the back of his neck while he cupped her face, holding her in place as his tongue massaged hers. She moaned noisily in the back of her throat and his lips left hers trailing her jaw line and neck, sucking on a spot below her left ear, his lips skimming the surface as she gasped.

"Do you want to go upstairs? We've got an apartment," he whispered.

"No," Rachel replied hastily, this was her in control, fast and loose was her game tonight.

Soon she was set atop the counter, only in her bra, her fingers tracing shapes on his chest as he dropped his pants around his ankles. There was a moments pause before he thrust into her quickly. She squeaked a bit and the feel of him. He moved slow at first, almost completely pulling out of her before pushing slowly in to the hilt. She bit her lip and groaned in pleasure, "Mmm, Fred."

The pace picked up, her meeting his thrusts as she moved closer and closer to her own release. "Don't. Stop," she said. As he heard this he reached a hand from her hips to tease the bundle of nerves between them. She gasped loudly as her head snapped back, eyes dazed as her nails left marks on his shoulders and her inner walls clutched around him.

"Nnngh," he groaned as her came after her, pounding out those last few thrust. Her eyes fluttered as she looked at him, a Cheshire grin on her face.

"I thought you would be in better shape than this," she poked at his labored breathing and his face that was a slighter redder color than his orange hair.

His tongue poked out of the slide of his mouth as he pulled out and poked her stomach pointedly. "Yeah? What happened to your Quidditch abs?" he grinned.

She froze for a moment and hopped off of the counter, pulling her underwear and pants on.

"What?" Fred asked puzzled.

Rachel turned and sighed with a weary look on her face. "I'm pregnant," she admitted.

Fred now froze. His breath caught in his throat. "But, I- We just. How can you-I used a condom," he whined.

She shook her head. "I'm nine weeks pregnant."

Watching him count the weeks in his head he frowned. "May?" His expression turned darker. "Wood?" It almost sounded like a growl.

Rachel lowered her eyes. "I don't' know. I was assaulted."

"Who?" That was a growl.

"My ex. Don't be stupid Fred, he's a Death Easter."

"He still deserves to be cursed into oblivion. Every Death Eater does."

She flinched. "Not everyone that gets the mark is willing. Some of us are sacrificial lambs," she said pulling her shirt over her head.

Fred caught a glimpse and his eyes widened more.

"Stop thinking it, I swore my allegiance to Dumbledore before-" she stopped short.

"I didn't say-"

"You don't have to. Listen, I've got to go."

"Wait," he said reaching for her arm, "does he know?"

"Well, my ex does. Wood," she stopped again.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"What?! No, of course not! He'd parade around like he cared about it and then leave whenever it's no longer convenient."

Fred frowned and stepped closer to her, taking her hands in his. "You shouldn't be in this situation."

She rolled her eyes, "Well, you know me."

"No, I meant alone." His hands rubbing up and down her arms in an attempt at a soothing manner.

"Ha, ha," she laughed at first before meeting his stony eyes. She squirmed out of his embrace. "What? Fred, no! This isn't your mess and you're not going to help me with it."

"Why not? Wood should be here, he hurt you and left you to deal with this yourself."

"He doesn't know! And how can I even be sure that it's his responsibility? I wouldn't want to drag him down anyway."

"Rach, please listen to me. Let me help you, give me a chance to help you."

"This isn't your child Fred," she said quietly.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I still don't care deeply for its mother."

Silence was his answer as she gently pushed on his chest and moved toward her bags.

"Just please think about it Rachel."

The sound of the door shutting was his answer as she walked quickly toward the Leaky Cauldron, intent on getting home. Lauren must have figured out that she went out by now, and there was certainly going to be an argument when she returned.

"Where have you been? I was worried sick about you and I shouldn't be. I told you to stay in, don't go out, did it ever occur to you how dangerous it is to go out now? Especially now?! If any Death Eaters found you," Lauren kept talking but Rachel wasn't listening.

She slammed the door shut and ignored the older woman's screams from the other side of the door. She set the bags in the corner, next to the nightstand and the first sonogram picture that she had. She picked up the phone from the corner and dialed a familiar number. It rang once and was picked up, there was laughing in the background and other teenage noises. "Hello?" the chipper voice called, she never even checked the number.

"Rayne, it's me, I need you to walk away from the group and listen to everything I have to say. Follow my instructions."

"Ra-"

"Don't say my name. Just do it."

There was the sound of the ocean, and now less noise. "What's going on?"

"Listen Rayne, I need you hang up with me and go home, don't tell anybody this is me. Tell him there's something wrong with Raya. I need you to call me back as soon as you lock the door."

"Why?"

"Because I told you so."

"I'm going to need a better reason than that."

Rachel paused for a minute. "Because. Because I need to talk to my sister about something really important. Now, please Rayne, don't argue and just do it."

"No," she said.

The line went dead after that. Rachel stared at the receiver in shock and slammed it down on the holder. She pushed herself into bed and stare at the ceiling. Reaching over, she turned off the light and shimmied out of her jeans. Snuggling herself under the covers she pulled the collar of her shirt up over her nose and inhaled the sent of chocolate and musk, reminding her of the dirty joke shop and the man she just left.


	4. Buried Myself Alive

He hadn't intended on anything coming of it. Or anything really happening in the first place. His drunken debauchery had gotten him a woman, a good woman. Well, a woman none the less. Sarah was sweet and young, and as it turned out, a police officer as well. A detective, her hours were similar to his, sometimes she would be in the office all night working on a case. London wasn't the best city to live in. She seemed to always find her way to his door though, he hadn't given her a key, but he made it a habit of leaving one under the rug for her to let herself in. His pile of clothes on the floor became theirs. His fridge was soon filled with soy milk and apples, in place of his chocolate milk and canned cheese spray. He hadn't really noticed. The motions were too hard to break from. Wake, run, shower, work, bar, stumble home, sleep, wake. It was repetitive. It was easy. He liked it. He didn't have to think. Sarah noticed. She noticed when he broke routine.

He had made his way after work one night to somewhere other than the bar. He wanted something sweet, not in the sense of overly clingy and horny. Just ice cream. He was not disappointed or surprised when he saw his favorite ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley closed, boarded up, abandoned. He turned after lingering in its gray dimness for a moment and continued. He headed to the bar instead and ordered a beer, the guys ignored his quietness. Mackey noticed, he tried to pull his aside, but said nothing, just patted him twice on the back and went back to his whiskey. Sarah joined him, he forced a smile, it was fake, but it was big, it made her happy. They drank together; well he drank while she sipped occasionally. At one point the bartender cut him off, so Sarah slid him the rest of her wine, which he gulped back quickly despite her frown.

She really was sweet, she helped him out of the bar, one arm wrapped around his waist, finger looped through his slacks. His arm draped over her shoulders, her fingers clinging to his dead weight hand. He thought he heard someone call his name. Sarah quickened her pace, she was practically dragging him. Maybe she thought he was going to throw up. He wasn't a woman, he didn't do those things. It hurt, he thought he was doing a good job of hiding it, obviously he knew he wasn't.

His peaceful dreams were comforting; he hadn't worried about it in days. In his dreams, he could almost disguise the aching desire in this stomach for hunger. He dreamt of Quidditch glory, and the threat of the Dark Lord Voldemort vanquished. He had been somewhere consciously aware that he talked about his dreams in his sleep.

"What are you waiting for Ollie? She's not coming back," the faint whisper jarred him. He stiffened but remained silent. "Sorry," she mumbled again. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Oliver held his breath for a moment longer before releasing it noisily. "S'okay," he muttered and rolled from his back to his side, away from Sarah's prying glances. Still, he felt her press her lithe body against his back and he tensed once more.

"So," she tried again, "who was she?" This question had been posed by her enough to let him know she wasn't going to drop it.

"Rachel," he stated. "Her name is Rachel."

"And she left you?"

He huffed and attempted to shake off her grasp.

"What happened? What did she do to you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," was his barely audible reply as he made his way to sit up. He felt Sarah's groping hands and pulled himself off of the bed.

"I'm sorry," she said again, her tone this time was mocking.

Brushing her off, he stood and pulled on a tee shirt, "S'okay." He walked out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, filling a mug with water and placing it in the microwave. The buzzing sound of the machine was not loud enough to cover her tracks as she padded from the bedroom to find him once more.

She sat herself on the edge of the table and observed him as he stiffly went about making himself a mug of tea and she dangled her feet, kicking the chair next to her. He kept his back to her and tried to ignore her, but her new noise making technique was hard to tune out. He glanced at the clock over the small oven, it was still early, if he was lucky he could catch up with the guys before they left the first bar and be well caught up to their current intoxicated states by the time they left the second for the third bar. He opened the door and dumped the warm water in the sink walking back into the bedroom.

Sarah gave him a peculiar look and hopped off of his table to follow him, "what's going on?" she questioned hastily. "Where are you going?"

"To meet the guys," he said simply, grabbing a pair of dirty pants off of the floor and tugging them on before she could reach him.

"Do they know you're going out? Is drinking away her memory really going to help you?" she asked sternly with a sour look spread across her features.

"No," he mumbled, "but it will help me forget yours."


End file.
